


deep blue (you painted me golden)

by slightalbus



Category: Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Bad Parenting, Best Friends, Christmas Fluff, F/M, First Kiss, Good Friends, Mistletoe, Pre-Relationship, Shipmas, Shipmas 2018, Supportive Relationships, Yann being just the best friend ever, they are in second year btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 06:45:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16908111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightalbus/pseuds/slightalbus
Summary: The castle is surprisingly lonely during Christmas break. The usually bustling halls, always echoing with some kind of chatter, are quiet and empty as Polly Chapman begins her third lap.Or, Polly has the best, best friend in the entire world.





	deep blue (you painted me golden)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LittleRose13Writes' Shipmas prompt: I know you didn’t just stay at Hogwarts for the Cribbage’s Wizarding Crackers

The castle is surprisingly lonely during Christmas break. The usually bustling halls, always echoing with some kind of chatter, are quiet and empty as Polly Chapman begins her third lap.

She’s been walking around aimlessly for about an hour and a half now, exploring corridors she’s never seen before and walking up and down different staircases, letting them move as they will and, for once in her life, going with the flow.

Portraits shake their heads sadly after her and offer sympathetic smiles. It’s all she can do not to flip them off. She’s perfectly fine spending Christmas break here, thank you very much. If she wanted pity she’d get it. She knows how.

It’s strange to hear her own footsteps echoing so clearly down the corridors, usually it would be drowned out, but today she can hear everything. She hums a little under her breath, a song her nanny used to sing to her, and closes her eyes as it reverberates gently around her.

All her friends went home a few days ago, laughing excitedly and chattering about their Christmas plans. Polly hadn’t known how to tell them that her parents had planned a trip to Paris and left her behind, it hadn’t felt right to dampen the mood.

It’s not like she’s surprised, they’d left her here first year as well, something about ‘building character’ and ‘finding herself’, which had really just meant that her father was having his brother’s family over and didn’t want to tell them that Polly had been sorted into Gryffindor and made friends with a Fredericks, the head muggle liaison officer’s son and a Hufflepuff.

Still, she supposes that part of her had hoped that things would be different this year. Last year Yann had been so affronted by the fact that she was spending Christmas alone that he spent all holidays writing to her and swearing that if they had room he’d invite her to his. But they hadn’t had room, not with all the cousins. So instead he came back a day early with an abundance of presents and sweets. Part of her had been hoping that he might invite her over this year, but perhaps his house was overrun again. She wouldn’t know. He hasn’t written to her once.

Which strikes her as odd, he’d seemed absolutely fine when he’d boarded the train, maybe even happier than usual, a little sparkle in his eyes. And yet, it’s been several days now and she’s not heard a word. Even Karl, notorious for disappearing and going off the radar for weeks at a time over break, has managed to write to her, detailing an unfortunate magical mishap during lunch with his muggle relatives.

She heads out to the lake, shoving her hands into the pocket of her hoodie to shield them from the biting cold air. It’s an effective wakeup call, telling her that she should write to Yann instead of moping about, uselessly hoping that he’ll write first. Sometimes in these matters, particularly in friendships, girls have to make the first move because boys can be absolutely useless, and as much as she loves her guy friends, she knows that to be more than true. So she aborts her plan to walk around the lake, practicing spells and feeling sorry for herself, and head back inside with the intention of writing to Yann.

She’s been completely alone these past few days, except for a couple of the older students who have stayed back to study, but even then, they spend all their time in the library. She can already see Craig there in a few years time, forgoing any form of recreation in favor of study. So when she gets back to the common room it’s with great surprise that she finds another person in there.

“Yann?”

Yann is over in the corner of the room, wearing a grey hoodie and track pants very similar to her own and poking at the fireplace. He looks up at her voice and a great smile breaks across his face.

“There you are!” he cries, rushing over to give her a hug. She goes into it bewildered.

“What are you doing here?” Polly asks.

“Just felt like coming back early is all,” he says, smiling too broadly.

“That’s bullshit,” she hates pity.

“Well, why are you here?” Yann dismisses, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall, “I know you didn’t just stay for the Cribbage’s crackers,”

“No reason,” Polly doesn’t know how to say that it’s because her parents don’t want her, that they’ve taken off to Paris without her, but she doesn’t have to. The look in Yann’s eyes says it all, so she shoves him in the shoulder. “Oh, fuck off,”

He doesn’t. Instead he pulls her back into a hug, a slower, gentler one this time, and she goes. Eyes closed and hands fisted in his jumper. Their hearts beating together.

“You didn’t write,” it comes out more accusatory than she means it too.

“I didn’t want to ruin the surprise,”

Polly hates it, but she forgives him immediately, a grin taking over her face as she punches him lightly in the arm. He smiles harder, crinkling his nose and eyes and punches her back.

“Anyway, I brought you something,” he says, heading over to the couch and procuring a parcel.

“Really?”

“Of course,” he says, handing it to her, “it wouldn’t be Christmas if I didn’t…well, it would, but I’d be a terrible friend,”

Polly unwraps it carefully to find a whole package of homemade sweets. Brownies, cookies and some ice-mice. She looks up at Yann.

“Leah and I made them,” he confesses, rubbing the back of his neck and offering a shy smile.

“Thank you,” Polly whispers.

She puts the sweets down and tugs Yann in for a hug again.

* * *

   
“Won’t Leah miss you?” Polly asks him over dinner that night.

They’re the only two Gryffindors at the table, but there’s not many students at the other tables either.

“She’ll manage,” Yann shrugs.

Polly frowns. When Yann first told her that he’d decided to come back for the rest of Christmas break to keep her company she’d been a little upset, feeling pitied, but mostly incredibly (and infuriatingly) happy, but now at the thought of keeping Yann and Leah apart she feels guilt starting to show itself in her gut.

“I don’t mind if you go back,” she tells him, avoiding eye contact, “there’s not much to do here and I wouldn’t want to bore you,”

“Polly,” Yann says, forcing her to look up at him, “you are the least boring person I know, we could watch paint dry and I’d still have fun with you,”

She isn’t sure what to say to that, but it warms her from the inside out, so she smiles.

“What have you been doing the past few days?” Yann asks her around a mouthful of potato.

Polly raises a brow at him.

“Not a lot, mostly just been exploring the castle,”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” he exclaims, “Can we do some more of that?”

“Yeah, of course,” Polly says, “if that’s what you want to do,”

Yann gives her an excited grin that’s full of teeth. She loves how he always manages to see the fun side of everything, the chance for adventure in the simplest of tasks. She can’t help but grin back.  


* * *

  
The next day, Polly wakes and finds she’s actually excited for the day ahead. Knowing that she’s no longer alone, that Yann has come back specially for her, gives her the energy to jump out of bed and hurry down to the common room still in her pyjamas.

Yann is also in his pyjamas, sitting by the fire and fiddling with some tinsel on the Christmas tree.

“Morning,” Polly chirps, coming to sit beside him, “what are you doing?”

“Trying to sort out some more decorations for the tree,” he says gesturing to it, “I feel like it’s looking a bit sparse,”

Polly looks between Yann and the tree with a look of disbelief.

“This is one of the most decorated trees I’ve seen in my life,”

“Really?” Yann exclaims with a furrowed brow.

“Yes, really,”

“Maybe my family is just really big on Christmas,”

Polly thinks that could be true. She knows that one of Yann’s mothers is French, and his other one is German, so she guesses that it’s possible that their cultures have a more visible way of celebrating. Or, she admits to herself, quietly in the back of her mind, it’s more likely that her family just celebrates less.

“Maybe,”

Yann stands up and dusts of his knees.

“So I was thinking we could reorganize your dorm today,”

“What?” Polly asks, perplexed.

“Well, Leah and I usually spend the week leading up to Christmas in the games room,” Yann explains, “we build like, a pillow fort, with blankets and fairy lights, and we play board games and stuff and sleep in there,”

Polly opens her mouth to make some possibly judgmental comment about the childishness of that, but then she thinks about the fact that her parents never really let her do childish things, and that Yann has left his family to come keep her company and is sharing his traditions with her out of the goodness of his heart, so she shuts it again and smiles.

“That sounds cool,” she says, and it’s worth it for the beaming smile Yann sends her way.

“Brilliant!”

Despite her hard work, Yann is still much better at magic than she is, so she expects that he’ll be the one to set the fort up.

“Are you going to do it?” Polly asks, her arms crossed, trying not to give away her insecurity.

“Do what?”

She waves her arm, mimicking a wand wave. “The fort,”

“Oh no,” Yann says with a smirk, “we’ll be doing this the _muggle way,”_

They set about pushing beds to the walls, making a large enough space in the middle of the room, pulling sheets, blankets and pillows off every bed and pushing two mattresses off their bed frames and onto the floor. They stand the other two mattresses up on either side to create makeshift walls and then enclose them with sheets. It’s surprisingly hard work, and Polly finds herself tying her hair back and pushing up her sleeves as they push and pull and maneuver the fort into shape. They create a world of blankets and pillows inside on the mattresses, setting up beds and space for board games. In the end, Yann helps her to reinforce it all with magic and set up twinkling fairy lights, and she thinks she’s never been so proud of anything in her life.

“Woah,” she breathes, looking around at the finished product and feeling an indescribable excitement.

“Not so childish now, huh?” Yann teases.

Polly snaps her head to look at him. “I never said that,”

“But you thought it,” Yann laughs.

Polly opens her mouth to explain, frightened that she’s actually managed to upset him.

“Polly, it’s fine,” he reassures her, “I proved you wrong anyway,” he gloats, “had you proper eating your words,”

His smug face is wiped away by the unexpected thump of a pillow.

“Eat _that!_ ” Polly cries.

“Oi!” he shouts, and the next thing they know is an extremely violent and competitive pillow fight.  


* * *

  
The next couple of days pass in a whirlwind of games, exploration and more fun than Polly has ever had. Polly had thought that the castle was lonely at Christmas time, but it turns out that it was just her. Now that Yann’s here, she’s never felt less lonely, or happier, in her life.

On Christmas Eve they sneak up some of the dessert from the feast and Polly pours the rest of her sweets from Yann onto the mattress.

“Yes!” Yann cheers, “solid stash!”

“Do you really think we’re going to eat all of this?” Polly asks.

“In my experience, you get very hungry in the early hours of the morning, so I wouldn’t put it past us,”

“Yes, because I’m certain _you_ have plenty of experience with the _early hours of the morning,”_ Polly drawls.

“I’m certain I’ve got more than you!” Yann challenges, biting the head off an ice mouse.

“We’ll see about that when you’re passed out by twelve,” Polly teases.

“You won’t because you’ll be the one asleep!”

Polly gives a sarcastic slow clap. “Great comeback,”

Yann twirls his hand and imitates a bow. “Why, thank you,”

They laugh and eat for a bit, chatting about Craig’s last letter where he mentioned the possibility of his parents buying him a new broom. He’s hoping desperately for the newest Skyshocker but is actually expecting the new Firebolt instead. It’s a shorter letter than usual because his parents had signed them all up for Christmas caroling with the muggles.

“Oh!” Polly exclaims, jumping up and running out of the fort.

“What are you doing?”

Polly fishes through her trunk until she finds the little rectangular device in the bottom under her uniform.

“This is my radio,” she explains when she’s sat back inside, “we should put on some Christmas music,”

Polly fiddles with the channels for a while until she finds one playing some soft carols.

She looks around the fort where they’ve spent the past few days. The blankets, the sweets, the twinkling lights which Yann has turned to green and red, and then Yann himself.

“This is really nice,” she says quietly, her hands in her lap and at a general loss of what to do. She doesn’t know how to express to Yann how much this all means to her, it’s overwhelming.

Yann looks at her, the tail of the ice mouse sticking out of his mouth and Polly thinks her heart might burst. She doesn’t know what it means, but she does know she’d be a very different person if she’d never met him.

“Oh this is Mum’s favourite,” Yann remarks as the song changes.

He scrambles to his feet and offers Polly his hand.

“Want to dance?”

“No way,” Polly deadpans, but one look at Yann’s smiling face and the way he’s already swaying to the music has her taking it.

He tugs her up into his arms, placing his hands on her waist as she wraps hers around his neck.

“This is how my parents always dance to this song,” he says, slowly swaying with Polly around the room.

She’s not sure what he means by that, if anything, but she leans into him, laying her head on his chest and listening to his heartbeat. The soft thump-thump against her ear and the distant crooning of the song as they move together.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” she confesses. She hears his heart skip a beat.

“Me too,”  


* * *

   
“Wake up, wake up!”

Polly is shaken awake very early on Christmas morning and opens her bleary eyes to an overly excited Yann.

“It’s Christmas!” he cries.

“I gathered as much,” she replies drily before pushing her hair out of her face and sitting up.

Yann, seemingly unable to wait, shoves a parcel into her hands and sits back to watch her expectantly.

“You got me another present?” she whispers, looking from the carefully wrapped package in her hands to Yann.

“Happy Christmas,” he says, biting his lip to, unsuccessfully, contain his smile, “go on! Open it!”

Polly gently runs her fingers under the tape, unwrapping it as carefully as it had been put together. Inside is a stuffed tawny owl and a green tartan scarf. Her hands fall limp at her side as she stares at the incredibly thoughtful gifts in front of her and tries with all her might not to cry.

“Do you like them?” Yann asks, his voice quiet and a little nervous.

Polly looks up at him, her lip wobbling. “Thank you,” her voice shakes as she reaches out to hug him. She uses the hug to take a few deep breaths and calm herself.

“I didn’t get you anything,” she says as she pulls back.

“You don’t need to,” he says, smiling, “your friendship is already more than enough,” he adds, fluttering his lashes, but she can tell he means it.

“That’s so gross,”

“You love me anyway,” he teases.

She bites her lip, her heart doing this weird flutter thing that it’s started to do around him.

“Yeah, I guess so,”

Polly picks up the toy owl and admires how soft it is in her hands. She’s never had a stuffed toy before. She likes how it feels to have one now.

“What are you going to call it?” Yann asks, scooting over to sit beside her.

“I’m not sure,” she muses, toying with an idea. She turns it to face Yann. “Does he remind you of anyone?”

They look together at the slightly startled look on its face; the already wide black eyes seeming even wider thanks to the pattern of its plumage.

“Karl,” they say together.

And he does look like Karl. Karl’s surprised face when he gets caught sneaking his pygmy puff, Darryl, into class, even though he tries it, and gets caught, every single day.

“I’m thinking Jenkins,” Polly decides, setting him decisively on her makeshift bed.

“Couldn’t’ve come up with a better name if you’d paid me,” Yann agrees.

“Thank you,” Polly says again, hoping with everything in her that Yann can tell how grateful she is. He must do because he gives her a soft, genuine smile and nods.

“Don’t mention it,” he says, clambering to his feet and offering her a hand to pull her up too, “now come on, I don’t want to miss even a second of the feast today,”

Ordinarily, Polly might worry about her appearance. As a child, her mother had always made sure she was dressed impeccably with neat, tight braids in her hair before letting her go downstairs and open presents, let alone for a meal, but with Yann beside her with his bed hair as wild as ever and his pyjamas still crinkled, she lets it all go to follow him, holding his hand all the way.  
 

* * *

 

  
“Do you miss your family?” Polly asks.

They’re sitting together in the fort with two mugs of hot chocolate. They didn’t get dressed all day so they’ve still got on their delightfully wrinkled pyjamas.

“A little bit,” Yann admits after a sip. He’s got a frothy mustache on his upper lip which he licks off absentmindedly. “Mostly Leah, I usually stay up late with her on Christmas Eve because she’s determined to catch Santa one day,” he’s got a soft smile on his face now, “she’s always asleep by eleven though,”

Polly is torn. On the one hand, she could happily sit and listen to Yann talk about his family all night, with his warm smile and his soft curls illuminated by the fairy lights, but on the other, she feels increasingly guilty that she’s keeping him away from them.

“Do you miss yours?” Yann asks, but there’s a knowingness to him, in the way that he asks so casually, taking a strategic sip and keeping his eyes on her the whole time.

There’s a lot she could say to that, her first instinct being to shut down and tell him to fuck off, but she doesn’t really want to do that, which leaves her stumped. She takes a sip of her rich, creamy hot chocolate as she ponders her next few words.

“I miss who I used to think they were,” she says slowly, thinking each word through carefully, “before I realized how real parents behaved,”

Yann nods, serious and understanding.

“That sucks,”

Polly shrugs. She’s not sure what to say because she already knew that.

“Guess I have to be your family now,” he says, taking another sip.

The tears come faster than she’d expected, and she puts down her mug to wipe her eyes.

“Fuck you,” she stammers, “you’re such a dickhead,” and crawls over to pull him into a hug.

Yann doesn’t say anything, just hugs her back even tighter.  
 

* * *

   
Boxing Day, Yann decides, is a day for adventure. He tells Polly at breakfast that he wants to go exploring on the third floor and see if they can find any hidden corridors or alcoves.

“Because Craig told me that he once ended up in an abandoned corridor that was a short cut to History of Magic, but that the next time he went to use it there was a Ravenclaw couple like, getting off in there,”

“And you want to find it?” Polly asks with an unimpressed look. _Boys._

“Well, yeah,” Yann says, shoveling in another mouthful of cereal, _“couf be hanny,”_

“For _what?_ ” Polly asks incredulously, putting down her spoon, “for the short cut or to fuck around in?”

“ _Boff_ ,” Yann manages with a wink. Polly feels her face heat up.

“Well, I’ll look with you, but I want nothing to do with all that,”

Yann raises his hands triumphantly. Polly has no idea what to do with him, so she resigns herself to laughter.  


* * *

   
It’s all going swimmingly, they’ve managed to find not one, but two hidden corridors, and have moved onto an alcove behind the Defence classroom when Polly sees it.

_Carletta Ryan is a useless SQUIB_

_Squibs = Shitstains_

Her breath catches in her throat. The graffiti is small and easily missable, but it stands out to her like a Gryffindor in a family of Slytherins.

“I want to go now,” she says.

“Polly?” Yann asks, but she’s already walking away.

“Polly!” he calls, chasing after her.

Polly can’t think, her mind reeling and echoing and twisting, she just knows she needs to get away.

Yann catches up to her by a bench beside a corridor, he grabs hold of her hands and pulls her to sit, and she goes, tears blurring her vision.

“What happened?” he asks, frantic, “What’s wrong?”

Polly can’t answer, her lips wobbling too hard to make words as the tears stream down her face. She pulls her hands back and wipes her face, but its futile, the tears keep coming. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she gasps.

“No, don’t apologize,” Yann tells her gently, “just tell me what’s wrong,”

Images flash in her mind, hateful words whispered behind her back, often in front of her, as six-year-old Polly tries to understand what she’s done wrong.

“Did you see the graffiti?” she asks, looking at her hands clenched in her lap.

“The squib stuff?”

She flinches. “Yeah,”

“What about it?”

She’s never told anyone before. Could barely admit it to herself when she realized what it meant, when she was finally old enough to comprehend. She swore she’d never breath a word of it, least word get out, but somehow she knows that she can trust Yann. That she can trust him more than any other person in her life.

“When I was younger,” she stammers, “my parents thought I was a squib,”

Yann frowns. “What?”

“They thought I was a squib until the day I got my Hogwarts letter, and even then,” she gives a humorless laugh, “they weren’t sure,”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Yann says, “you can do magic, I’ve seen you do magic,”

Polly nods, sniffling.

“Yeah, well they were wrong…obviously, but you can’t imagine how much they hated me for it,”

Yann takes her hands in his.

“Listen, your parents are,” he struggles for a word, “every loathsome thing in the world and then some,”

Polly huffs a laugh.

“No, I’m serious,” Yann continues, “you don’t have to go into any details, but if they treated you as less just because they thought you might not have magic then they aren’t worth a fucking thing,”

“I just worry sometimes,” she takes a breath, “I worry sometimes that they were right all along and that this is just a big accident,”

“Polly,” Yann says, “I’m your family now, and as your family it’s my job to tell you that that is such bullshit, you’re here because you belong here and you deserve everything you could ever want,”

“I love you,” Polly says, leaning into his arms.

“I love you too,” he says immediately.

“You won’t tell anyone?”

“Not that this devalues you in any way, but of course I won’t tell anyone,”

She thinks, not for the first time, that she really won the friendship lottery with Yann.

“And I’ll tell Karl to shut up with that Slytherin Squib thing he’s got going against Albus,” he says, “it’s not even funny anyway, the poor kid seems to have it hard enough,”

Polly knows that’s true and tries to ignore the guilt bubbling away in her gut.

“Can we head back now?”

“Of course,”

As she moves to stand up she spots something dangling above them. Yann spots it at the exact same moment and they freeze.

“Mistletoe?” Yann whispers.

Polly swallows.

“Looks like it,”

“Shall we-“

“Do you want-“

They pause.

"We could?" Yann says, unsure.

“Just this once,” Polly agrees.

“And only because we have to,” 

Polly takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.

It’s over in a split second. She’s almost disappointed.

Yann’s lips are soft and gentle, they press against hers quickly and pull back before she has time to blink.

“Okay,” he says, mostly to himself. Polly likes how red his cheeks have gone. “Cool,”

Polly nudges her shoulder against his, smiling to herself.

“We're just friends, though,” Polly says as they walk back to the dorm.

“Just friends,” Yann agrees.

She tries to ignore the voice in the back of her head that says _for now._

* * *

 

“Polly,” Yann asks that night, his voice quiet, “do you think you’d like to spend next Christmas at mine?”

Polly thinks about what that implies. That Yann has assumed, however rightly, that her parents won’t want her next year either. Instead she thinks about what he means. That he’d like Polly to stay with him, at his house, for the whole holiday. Which would mean meeting his family, his little sister, his dog, waking up every day in his house and spending all day with her best friend.

She smiles. She thinks she’d like nothing more in the entire world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I had such a joy writing this and I hope you enjoyed if you made it this far! Please leave kudos or a comment if you did, they make my entire week :)


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